


The Darkest Evening

by SailorSol



Series: Lovely, Dark and Deep [2]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Dark, Dark Seduction, Isolation, M/M, Mind Games, Mutual Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Do you wish to leave me, Jack?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Jack is shaking his head before he can even give the question much thought. What he remembers of outside is alone and ignored and anger. He remembers happiness shattered by apathy, joy crushed by an aching emptiness.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkest Evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



> So this has more or less ended up as a direct sequel to the fic I wrote for you last year... but both can still be read independently. I hope you enjoy!
> 
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> _Whose woods these are I think I know._  
>  _His house is in the village though;_  
>  _He will not see me stopping here_  
>  _To watch his woods fill up with snow._
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> _My little horse must think it queer_  
>  _To stop without a farmhouse near_  
>  _Between the woods and frozen lake_  
>  _The darkest evening of the year._
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> \-- 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening', Robert Frost

He stands on a hillside watching the children playing below. The summer sun does nothing to warm him, its light as weak as a January morning.

“Summer!” one of the children shouts gleefully, running in a circle across the emerald green grass before falling down to lie on his back, arms spread as wide as his grin. “Best season ever!”

Jack recoils, stumbling backwards into cold, gray arms.

“You see, Jack,” the dark, smooth voice whispers in his ear. “The boy has already forgotten you.”

“Jamie,” Jack says, but his voice cracks and the word is swallowed by the wind as the shadows fold around him.

“Come along, Jack, we still have much to see.”

* * *

 

They come next to North’s workshop. It seems emptier than usual. Jack can’t see any of the elves or yeti; just the other four Guardians. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but none of them look happy. Bunny looks downright angry as he gesticulates with a boomerang in one hand.

It’s the golden image above Sandy’s head that tells Jack what they’re talking about—a snowflake followed by a question mark. North looks away, Tooth shrugs, and Bunny starts a new rant.

“They don’t seem very pleased by you, do they,” Pitch says. He sounds almost apologetic.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Me?” Pitch asks, sounding insulted. “I’m simply showing you the truth of things, my boy. They never were pleased that you had been made a Guardian, were they.”

A snatch of memory flashes through Jack’s mind—trumpets and fanfare, a snowball fight in a golden-lit park—but it’s gone a moment later, like the first snow of the year.

“Seen enough?” Pitch asks. North is angry now too, and Jack can’t watch this anymore; he nods his head and Pitch wraps long fingers around his wrist.

* * *

 

Pitch’s lair is dark. The cages still hang from the ceiling of the cave, the shadows twisting into monsters in the corner of Jack’s vision.

He relaxes for the first time.

Pitch is watching, waiting, barely visible save for his gleaming golden eyes that are tracking Jack.

“It could do with some redecorating,” Jack says, trying for humor and falling flat. He’d have expected his voice to echo, but it doesn’t.

“Be my guest,” Pitch says, and gestures expansively. “As they say, my home is your home. You are always welcome here, Jack.”

Something twists inside Jack’s stomach, something that makes him think of dark, icy water and the sound of cracking ice.

“Go on,” Pitch urges. “Show me what you are capable of.”

Jack grips his staff, looking around. He isn’t sure where to start. Closing his eyes, he breathes in slowly; the air doesn’t have that musty, dank smell he was expecting. He lets his magic flow down through his staff, into the ground, spreading outward up the walls, wrapping around stalagmites and stalactites. Pitch’s slow clapping makes Jack open his eyes again.

Everything is coated in a layer of ice, not much more than a frost, but in the dim light it glitters like a thousand diamonds. Nothing like the ice castles he’s built in Antarctica, where sunlight filters through to create millions of rainbows. This is more like the night sky, unmarred by the brightness of the moon.

“Bravo,” Pitch says. He’s smiling, and Jack can’t help but smile in return.

* * *

 

Time passes, but Jack has no sense of it. Pitch offers constant company, sometimes engaging Jack in conversation, sometimes just lurking silently in the shadows. Jack considers leaving, once, but then he remembers Jamie in the grass and the anger of the other Guardians, and then Pitch is asking his opinion about something and he forgets duties and friendship and sunlight.

Pitch seems genuinely delighted by Jack’s company. He admits to being lonely, to having once had a daughter who was taken from him, and how Jack helps to fill that void. Jack doesn’t quite remember his parents, but he remembers the ache of having no one. He and Pitch settle into a comfortable routine.

Until one day Pitch leaves, and doesn’t return.

Jack’s not worried, not exactly, but the cave feels so _empty_ without Pitch, and the ice-covered stalactites seem more like hanging daggers now. He takes note of how much time has passed, both since Pitch has gone, and since Jack had arrived here. He’s shocked to realize it’s been months; Christmas is just around the corner. There’s something he should be doing, he thinks, but concern for Pitch overwhelms him.

A day passes, then two. On the third, Pitch finally appears, collapsing to the ground in a heap. Jack is at his side in an instant, pulling the older spirit into his lap. Pitch smiles up at him, strained and tired.

“What happened?” Jack asks, his voice cracking. He hadn’t realized how afraid he had been that Pitch wasn’t coming back, that he would be all alone again in the dark and the cold.

“I ran into a few old friends,” Pitch replies. “They seem to think I’m holding you against your will.” He sat himself up and shifted so he was facing Jack. “Do you wish to leave me, Jack?”

Jack is shaking his head before he can even give the question much thought. What he remembers of outside is _alone_ and _ignored_ and _anger_. He remembers happiness shattered by apathy, joy crushed by an aching emptiness. Pitch is watching him, waiting for more of an answer, and Jack thinks of these last months, of conversations and company and being offered a _home_ for the first time in so, so long. There’s nothing for him out there.

He leans forward and presses his lips against Pitch’s, eyes fluttering shut. It only lasts a moment but feels like a lifetime before he is leaning back again, their faces still only inches apart. “No. I could never leave you. I need you.”

His eyes are still closed, so he doesn’t see as Pitch closes the distance, a hand going behind Jack’s head to keep them together for another kiss. His stomach is fluttering and there is a moment of panic before Pitch releases him.

“Good boy,” Pitch says. He cups Jack’s face with one cool hand, and Jack tilts into the touch, the first touch he has had since Pitch brought him here. “You can be mine. Forever.”

“Forever,” Jack repeats softly, and ignores the fear.


End file.
